War of the Long Knives
by The Laughing Man
Summary: Etheria has almost fallen completely to the Horde. A stranger arrives, but things are not what they appear to be... Pls review.
1. Default Chapter

_All that is needed for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. Obviously, the converse is true as well. Something to always keep in mind._

_- Glaincer Drummond_

_Grywich Village_

_Kingdom of Brightmoon(conquered by Hordak)_

Princess Glimmer of Brightmoon hugged herself tighter to keep in the warmth in her dark colored robes, as well as hiding her face from the other customers in the tavern with her hood. She stared at the plate of bread and cheese in front of her, trying to control her shivering before starting to eat.

The sound of thunder rumbled again, sending a dull shiver through the ramshackle building. The constant pit-pattering of the rain on the rooftop served as a reminder of the atrocious weather outside.

If anything, the poor weather made Glimmer feel worse. Here she was, enjoying a plate of food and some warmth from the fire in the corner when poor Bow and the shattered remnants of the rebels hid out in the Whispering Woods, undoubtedly trying to shelter themselves amongst Madam Razz's even flimsier tents.

_It can't be helped_, she told herself firmly. _We needed somebody to keep an eye out for Horde movements, and with Peekablue and so many others captured, my powers would give me the best chance for escape should I be discovered._

For the umpteenth time, she wondered what had happened to the Rebellion to land them in such dire straits. She-Ra was gone, captured, an unwilling guest of Hordak in the Fright Zone. Adora had disappeared at the same time as She-Ra. Frosta's kingdom was bombarded into vapor from orbit by a Horde warship, and nobody knew if the Ice Queen was still alive. Mystacor fell when Castaspella did while engaging in a spell duel with Shadow Weaver, attacked from behind by Horde Troopers. Her own mother was captured when Brightmoon fell under the offensive prowess of the Horde. About 90% of the Great Rebellion was dead or captured.

Glimmer snorted. She wondered if they could be called 'Great' anymore, after the disaster of the past few years. Something had changed within the Horde just before the massive, sudden offensive which had destroyed the Rebellion.

Hordak was never the most imaginative nor capable commander the Horde had. He was, at the most, an efficient administrator, but not a true warrior. But just before the offensive, Horde Prime assigned several overseers to the Horde forces on Etheria with devastating effect.

Despite their best efforts, the rebels were unable to get detailed information on those overseers. Hordak was publicly still in overall command, but those overseers were the true power on the planet. They stayed in the background, even more than Shadow Weaver did in the past, never appearing in public, and even Horde warriors could only catch the fleetest glimpses.

Glimmer shuddered. If half of what they heard was true, those overseers might be even worse than Hordak, both in looks and demeanor. Despite everything Hordak had done, she remembered late night conversations with Adora about the Horde commander. He had a strange soft spot for Adora, and there were many times in the past where some plan of his failed because he made some stupid error just when he was about to win, and then lost because of that error. Adora had suggested that it was because he had an unconscious mind block against defeating the Rebellion, perhaps because in some way, he still cared for Adora.

If only he had remained in command, Glimmer thought bitterly.

She was shaken out of her thoughts as the tavern door crashed open. Everybody in the tavern turned their heads to the door.

A hooded black clad figure in a dark green cloak strode into the tavern as the doors swung close behind him. Water dripped down from his wet cloak, forming a puddle around his feet.

A pale hand drew back the hood. Green eyes below a head of short brown hair pierced through the room, looking around the small tavern as though looking for prey. Glimmer might have thought him handsome, if not for the way his mouth formed a bitter gash on his face, his eyes hard and angry, carrying a silent menace.

His eyes fixed on the tavern owner, he walked forward, removing his cloak and folding it into a bundle as he walked up to a table. He sat down, and placed his cloak on a nearby seat. As the tavern owner Kruter approached him for his order, one hand reached inside his clothing and took out a gold piece, placing it on the table.

Though she could not see his face, Glimmer was sure Kruter's eyes were bugging out. Gold pieces were very rare in recent days, with only the richest Etherians, all of whom were in cahoots with the Horde, and the Horde commanders themselves, in possession of them. For this stranger to have them was quite an event.

The sound of several chairs being drawn back did not surprise her, and Glimmer did not need to look behind her to see Rosteen's gang standing up. A bunch of ruffians and street toughs, Rosteen acted as the Horde's unofficial 'enforcer' in the village. In exchange for informing the Horde on possible subversives and events in the village, he was given a small sum of money.

Glimmer had been very careful not to let Rosteen know of her presence in the tavern, and she was both worried and strangely excited when he and his gang surrounded the man. She was reminded of the way Adam, prince of Eternia, had first met Bow, in a situation similar to the one she was seeing.

Eternia had also fallen to Horde Prime, and no help was going to come from there. Glimmer wasn't sure what happened, but the disappearance of He-Man was surely an important reason. She pushed those thoughts of the way, and focused on the scene in front of her. Likewise, the attention of everybody in the tavern was fixated on the stranger.

"Hey there," Rosteen said, standing over the man. Rosteen was a tall man, and heavily built. He was a good fighter, but ill-disciplined, and Glimmer had heard rumors of him being drummed out of the Horde because of disciplinary infractions.

"You seem a very rich man, my friend," Rosteen continued. "How about sharing some of that wealth with me and my boys?" The men behind him grinned.

In addition to the sum of money given to them by the Horde, their power in the village enabled them to steal and bully the villagers with impunity. Extortion and 'protection' money enabled Rosteen and his gang to live like kings while the rest of the village suffered.

Glimmer clenched her fists, trying hard to resist the urge to reveal herself and blast the street toughs into snail snot. Kruter, for his part, was trying with various expressions on his face to convince the toughs to leave the man alone, at least while they are still in his tavern. The tavern owner was a rebel sympathizer, which was why she was able to eat at his tavern for almost free, and in relative safety as long as Rosteen and gang did not find out.

"Why should I?" The stranger asked in a low tone, edged with warning.

"Because we say so. You'll need to pay us for protection, my friend, or else you'll be missing a few choice pieces of your hide."

The man smiled, and Glimmer shuddered. It was a smile she had seen only a few times before, always on the most evil of Horde warriors. It was a smile that promised pain, death, and suffering. She found herself hoping that Rosteen would leave the man alone before something bad happened to _everybody _in the tavern.

"No money for you. Sorry." The man said, still smiling. His eyes told a different story.

"Too bad then." Rosteen turned away and started to walk away, before suddenly swinging around with a roundhouse at the seated man.

Except the man had already got up into Rosteen's face, and he kneed Rosteen right in the crotch before the roundhouse could hit him.

Rosteen collapsed backwards with a whimper as his men charged in.

Glimmer had never seen anything like it, not even fighting beside She-Ra, the Rebellion's finest warrior. The man did not rely so much on his strength, using his skill and reflexes to land accurate and damaging blows on his enemies. He weaved in and out of the thugs, and they could not seem to be able to hit him even once as he floored them with chops to the throat, vicious blows to the face to break the nose, as well as rapid kicks that sent more than one thug crashing back.

One thug grabbed his bow from his back, and swung with it. The man snaked an arm through the bow, using his elbow to block the bow's forward momentum. His other hand grabbed the thug and pulled him into a vicious kick to the stomach.

The thug fell onto the floor in front of the man groaning while the bow remained in the man's hand. The last two thugs remaining on their feet started to take off for the tavern door.

The man reached down with a hand to the thug's quiver in front of him, and took out two arrows. With a single, blinding motion, he placed both arrows on the bow, aimed, and let fly with both arrows simultaneously.

The arrows punched through the thighs of both fleeing thugs just as they were about to reach the exit. They went down, clutching their legs and screaming in pain.

_By the gods_, Glimmer thought about the dual shot, _not even Bow could do that!_

The man broke the wooden bow, snapping it across a thigh, and threw the splintered pieces away. He walked up to a petrified Rosteen, cowering in a corner. He kneeled down to look Rosteen in the eye.

"Protection, my friend?" The man asked sardonically. "I think you're the one who needs protection, _quiaff_?"

Rosteen nodded quickly, his eyes open with fear.

"Any more trouble you're going to give me?"

Rosteen shook his head vigorously, unable to speak up.

The man smiled again, the same bone chilling smile that sent shivers up Glimmer's back. He got up, and flicked a gold piece at Kruter, who caught it hurriedly in both hands.

"For damages," he explained. "Now, where's the food I ordered?"

The tavern owner gulped audibly. "This way, sir." He showed the man to another empty table. Meanwhile, the tavern was silent with shock, and not a little bit of fear.

"Carla, where's the food?" Kruter yelled in the direction of the kitchen. He turned back to the stranger. "Sir, forgive me for saying this, but you have brought a great deal of trouble upon us…"

The man held up a hand, forestalling the rest of Kruter's words. "Let me guess. These 'men', he sneered, "are connected to the authorities. You're afraid that you'll be held responsible for hurting them after I leave."

Kruter wiped away the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Why yes!"

"Then here's the reason you're going to give them," the stranger said, "Tell them you didn't do anything, because if you did, I would have just killed all of you."

The clearing of throats throughout the tavern adequately conveyed the occupants' acceptance of his statement, as well as the implied threat. Rosteen and his men curled up in a corner, trying to stay away from the stranger while being tended to by Kruter.

Everyone was relieved when the man left after his meal.

Glimmer, who had finished her own food, followed him into the rain.

Micheal Sandoval, freelance ranger and former soldier, snarled as he stepped on a puddle of mud, splattering his boots with brown flecks.

He was in a foul mood, especially after the fight in the tavern. It had been such a temptation to simply cut his enemies open with Shadow, appeasing the god of murder residing in his mind. The lousy weather didn't help.

Well, to be truthful, he was constantly in a foul mood these days, especially after Bhaal set up shop in his body. Having a formerly dead god of murder in his mind would do that to anybody.

_You should have just killed them, boy_, Bhaal commented languidly as Micheal made his way through the rain. _Ahh, the sweet sight of blood. Not enough spilled for my liking._

_Shut up, Bhaal, _Micheal shot back. _Those men did not deserve death. It'll be too honorable an end for them. Petty thugs and scum would only soil my blade._

_Is that really what you think, or are you just trying to justify not killing them at all?_ Bhaal asked. _No need to answer. After all, I _am_ in your mind._

_Yeah, yeah. How about you make yourself useful and 'discourage' the person following me?_ Michael had picked up the woman following him almost immediately on leaving the tavern.

_Not 'me'. Us. _Bhaal corrected. _I'm the god of murder, not illusions or telepathy. I can discourage her, but I'll have to take over… _Micheal could almost feel Bhaal's smile as he anticipated an orgy of blood, no doubt.

_Then forget it. Sorry for attributing abilities to you which you never had._ Micheal grinned to himself at the cheap shot, which apparently hit the mark as Bhaal sank angrily back into silence.

It had not been a happy two years for him, or Bhaal either for that matter. Ever since that bloody affair on Mount Celestia in the Lost Tesseract where the essence of Bhaal had somehow merged into his body, the two of them had been sharing an uneasy existence together.

Even as a resurrected god, Bhaal found himself unable to overcome Michael's own mind and take complete control. Similarly, Michael couldn't get rid of Bhaal, no matter how hard he tried. Heck, he had even tried to kill himself, but every time he tried to do so, Bhaal had managed to prevent him from carrying the action.

In addition, Bhaal's presence had conferred onto him a terrifying array of powers and abilities. Rapid healing, shadow-walking, enhanced strength, speed, endurance, and a few other 'perks' that would appear only when Bhaal was in control.

In the end, they had made a deal. They would travel around and search for a way to get Bhaal a physical body into which the dark god's essence could be stored. Neither of them doubted the first thing they would do when _that_ happened was for one of them to kill the other. They hated each other, and the past two years of co-existence had only deepened that hatred.

After all, Bhaal was a god of evil, while Michael worked for the other side. And their search was still going nowhere. Their latest stop on this shithole of a Horde-held world was to look for a series of scrolls which were said to describe the creation of physical bodies for spiritual entities. Not for the first time, Michael wished they could have used clones, which would have been so much simpler. Too bad clones came out already possessed of a individual spiritual essence, no matter what they did.

Making a decision, Michael spun around to face the woman following him.

"What do you want?" He yelled as the hooded woman, who had been trying to follow him discreetly about 20 meters back, tried to hide from his angry gaze.

"No need to hide, I've already seen you." Michael walked up to the woman, who simply waited in the middle of the dirt road for him. She obviously knew that hiding was no longer an option.

"I'm asking you again, what do you want?" Michael asked as he finally reached her.

The woman lifted up her hood slightly, giving him a glimpse of purple colored hair, as well the beautiful face of a young woman. "I am Glimmer. My friends need your help."

Michael stared at her incredulously. Then he laughed.

Glimmer stared in puzzlement as she watched the man in front of her laugh, feeling a horrid fear pool in her guts. It was a laugh of dark humor, one that promised nothing good. She wondered if she had made a mistake trying to recruit him into the Rebellion.

"Sir… "she asked before he cut her off.

"Sorry, not interested." The cold gaze returned to the man in an instant. She found herself preferring the cold gaze over the dark laugh.

"But we really need your help!" Glimmer insisted. "The Rebellion is the last hope for the people of Etheria! Children are starving, the people slaves! Our world is dying! The horde kills without reason. Our people are being massacred!"

Glimmer thought she saw the man's grim visage crack for a moment, which lent her strength.

"We need every warrior we can find to help us. I saw what you did in the tavern, you have to help us."

"And how would you know I'm not an agent of the Horde, eh?" The man asked. "Revealing such things to a stranger. Tsk, tsk, not a good idea at all."

Glimmer was taken aback for a moment by his words. She plunged back in. "If you were of the Horde, you would have killed Rosteen and his goons on the spot. You would not have come up with that excuse for the villagers to avoid the Horde's wrath."

The man shook his head. "Too trusting. You're still too trusting. Back where I come from…" He sighed.

"Does this mean you'll help us?" Glimmer asked hopefully.

The man looked at her for a moment, before he sighed again ruefully. "Why the hell not? Nothing else better to do."

"And your name is?"

The man thought for an instant, before speaking. "Call me Bhaal."

_What the fuck are you trying to do, using MY name! _Bhaal roared angrily.

_Sheesh! Get off your high horse! Who the heck cares about your bloody name anyway! I'm a wanted man, remember? That 'teeny weeny' incident on Gracux? _Michael yelled back in his mind. _That one was your fault!_

_Oh yeah! Who was it that wanted to go there in the first place? And now this stupid side show to help these pathetic do-gooder rebels against the Horde! Don't we have better things to do? _Bhaal complained loudly.

_Maybe they'll just be able to help us, idiot! And besides, didn't you say you wanted blood? Well, maybe this'll give you the chance to spill some of it! _Michael gritted his teeth. These arguments in his head always gave him a headache afterwards.

"Bhaal, are you alright?" Glimmer asked him, noting the strain on his face.

"I'm fine," Michael replied. They walked quietly in the forest, heading towards the rebel camp in the Whispering Woods.

He didn't want to get involved. He had told himself and Bhaal that he wouldn't get involved in anything like fighting against the Horde. But that resolve weakened the moment Glimmer told him about the plight of the Etherian people. Most important was that single word, 'massacre'.

No matter how he tried to avoid it, the defense of innocents was his sworn duty. Dark god or not, massive enemy force or not, he had to do it. Because once upon a time, in a garden of black roses, he had sworn an oath.

He turned to Glimmer. "So tell me about the history of your world. How the Horde conquered it. Stuff like that."

Even as he listened to Glimmer's tale, Michael was already hatching plans. Plans to infiltrate, attack. Assassinating enemy leaders, poisoning their troops. Demoralizing them, controlling their supply lines. And a few other stuff that Bhaal would be more than happy to help him out with. At least he could turn the dark god's desires in more positive directions. That was the way he had been raised. The foundations for any military victory were preparation, vigilance, anticipation, and direction. It was never too early to start on preparation.

_Time to teach the natives how a Sandoval fights_, he thought to himself wryly.


	2. Masquerade

_War is never really won by anyone who participates in it. War simply rearranges the way things were and steals the promise of tomorrow from each side. To succeed at war you have to lose a part of your humanity. After you win enough wars, you have no humanity left because you lost a piece of it each time you killed someone._

_-Soldier's Tale_

Hordak thought he knew what was evil incarnate. After all, _he_ was supposed to be evil incarnate. He had done everything he thought an evil overlord would do. Slavery, collecting exorbitant taxes from the citizenry, the occasional tickle torture session, and perhaps a killing or two to make an example.

How wrong he was. The newcomers Horde Prime had sent had opened his eyes once and for all time as to what true evil was. And Hordak felt an unfamiliar sensation in his stomach ever since he knew what their methods were. He felt sick.

They had started with the Horde garrison. Every trooper and commander who failed to measure up to their exacting standards had been killed immediately, no questions asked. Soldiers were asked to fire upon their comrades to prove their loyalty. Commanders forced to kill their men themselves to show their dedication to the cause. Through it all, the overseers had laughed in glee, treating it all like some kind of perverse entertainment.

Then had come the military offensives. There was no more pussy footing around the Rebellion. The overseers simply brought in several grotesque starships, and proceeded to pound the independent kingdoms into submission from orbit.

When the Rebellion tried sending infiltrators into the warships, the overseers had been prepared for that as well. They had outfitted every ship with dead man switches that would send paralyzing gas into the entire interior if they were ever boarded. The rebels had been caught flatfooted, and their leaders captured with ease.

She-Ra, Queen Angela, Peekablue, Perfuma, Flutterina, were caught during their ill advised attempt to destroy the ships. The pirate Sea Hawk had been killed, along with most of his crew. While Frosta and Castaspella had managed to escape, their kingdoms were invaded and conquered soon after.

Hordak had often imagined this, his ultimate victory over Etheria, his enemies in his dungeons, his armies rampant over the world. So why did it taste like ashes in his mouth? _Because it wasn't the result of my efforts._

He doubted he could have done what the overseers did. There was something within him that simply refused to go to the extremes that the overseers had, that told him that what they were doing was wrong. It was that same inexplicable feeling that had made him feel pride, and even love, when he had raised Adora from an infant to a young woman. Her betrayal still cut him in ways he could not understand.

Riding in his mobile command vehicle, Hordak thought about the latest reports from this particular region he was inspecting. There was a steady increase of rebel activity recently, and the morale of Horde troops in the area was dropping like a rock. Instead of waiting for the problem to escalate, he had decided to take a personal look at the situation instead.

After all, with the overseers running roughshod over him in the Fright Zone, he had nothing to do there anyway. Better to see if he could make himself useful elsewhere. He looked carefully at the forest along the road. _Too many damn ambush points_, he thought.

Sandoval grinned as he observed the enemy column moving on the road from his hidden position in the woods lining the road. According to the rebels' descriptions, the white faced sentient with fangs and red eyes sitting in the lead vehicle could only be Hordak. Which paved the way for the next step of his plan.

His initial assessment of the rebels had been "enthusiastic, poorly trained, no overall strategy". He knew he was being harsh on them, but the current situation didn't leave him with much choice. If they were to stand a fighting chance, they had to make every little edge count.

Their advantages. Widespread support from the populace. A secure, near impregnable base in the Whispering Woods, shielded by powerful magic. Skilled leaders in Bow and Glimmer, all that were left of the leadership core of the Rebellion after their attempt to halt the orbital bombardment of Etheria.

The Horde's advantages. Sheer manpower and technology. Supply of reinforcements from space. Orbital coverage and reconnaissance. The overseers themselves.

Even if they were able to throw the Horde off, Michael knew that the Horde could always invade again, next time with even greater force. There was no counter balancing interstellar state nearby to oppose the Horde, and there could only be one result in the long term if all the Etherians did was to stay on a defensive footing.

The ultimate long term goal was to destabilize the entire Horde empire and free all the worlds under its reach, and to do that, he'd already planned out a series of steps to achieve that final objective. He had been trained to think big, think ambitious, and this was no exception.

It started out with a series of raids against the local garrison, led by Bow and Glimmer. They would attack supply convoys and isolated patrols, making sure to hit and fade back into the woods, never taking more than ten minutes for every raid. Just hit, disable the enemy, and then abscond with their equipment. Everything taken from the guerilla's handbook Grayson Death Carlyle had written, decades ago and millions of light years away on a jungle hellhole called Verthandi.

And since the magic of the Whispering Woods protected them from orbital bombardment, Sandoval had been confident enough to have the equipment, with their electronic tracking bugs and all, brought into their main camp. He taught them to remove the tracers, and the rebels were slowly but surely getting used to modern weaponry. It was far easier to learn how to shoot with a gun than with a bow, after all, not to mention the advantages in range and accuracy. While a few of the rebels were woodsmen and hunters, the majority were simple farmers and townsfolk drawn to the Rebellion by the promise of freedom.

Today Bow and Glimmer would stage another raid, but the results were going to be a bit different this time round. He melted back into the woods. _Showtime._

"Hey, if you keep your face looking like that, don't expect any handsome young prince to court you anytime soon!" Bow tried to make light of the situation as he noticed Glimmer's worry. She was fidgeting from place to place, constantly checking on their weapons and the rebels selected for the raid.

"What is keeping him so long?" She asked.

Bow shrugged. "You should know by now that this Bhaal does what he wants. I wouldn't worry. He's more than capable of taking care of himself."

"That's what we thought about She-Ra."

"Yeah, but this Bhaal's different. He's smarter, more cunning…"

"More devious, and ruthless as well. He reeks of evil, Bow." She finished for him. "I wouldn't have asked him to help us if we weren't so desperate." Her words held tones of regret.

Bow stepped forward to hug her. "Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. I just…" he paused, "I just want you to know that no matter what, I'll always support you."

Glimmer rested her head on his chest, grateful for his steadfast support through all the good and bad times. "I wish we could stop this fighting. And perhaps one day…"

"It's time." Bhaal stepped out of nowhere before she could complete her sentence. He looked coldly at Bow and Glimmer for a moment before his eyes softened slightly, which made Bow wonder if the man was as uncaring as he appeared, _tried_, to be. "Are you ready?"

Bow reluctantly shifted away from Glimmer, while checking his equipment for the last time. "Yeah, we're ready."

"Good, let's go. The enemy awaits our presentation."

Hordak stirred in his seat. He had felt… something. An inkling at the back of his neck, a faint sensation of danger…

"Unit under attack." A trooper reported before being cut down by an arrow through its vulnerable control systems located in the head section, punctured through its cheap plastic visor.

Hordak leaped out of his transport, shapeshifting both arms into hand cannons, even as Horde troopers, both automated and living recruits, fired back haphazardly at their unseen ambushers.

"Take cover!" Hordak gritted his teeth as he saw the first few rebels appear from behind cover, moving to get better shots at his soldiers. "Cut them down!"

The accursed rebel Bow emerged, shooting at robot troopers with incredible accuracy, dropping them one after the other like flies, mixing in a few explosive arrows for variety. The princess Glimmer stood behind him, throwing out blinding light beams that did not inflict any damage, but served to blind and confuse the Horde soldiers.

Hordak blasted away with his arm cannons, but he just couldn't hit the damnable rebels. Then a curving azure beam from Glimmer hit him right in the face. Hordak fell back under the cover of a battered transport, shouting in rage as his sight was temporarily removed. He could just see the report to Horde Prime now. "_Hordak defeated by a bunch of ragged assed rebels_".

He heard Force Captain Tuwac, the nominal commander of the convoy, shouting orders in frantic desperation. However, most of those orders were mistakes. Hordak growled in anger. If only he could see!

His sight was returning slowly, but not fast enough to turn the tide of battle. Tuwac and his men were already falling back to the last of the vehicles near Hordak's position. Hordak steeled himself, ready to take down as many of the rebels before changing shape and running.

A rebel was moving forward when he was suddenly struck in one arm by an arrow. Three more rebels were hit by arrows in their arms and legs in rapid succession. The rest of them halted, as if unsure of what was happening.

_Another bowman? _Hordak wondered, his sight almost fully recovered. _It can't be Bow. And I don't remember any archers with us._

Bow was shouting to his rebels, trying to get them to defend against the new attack, but it was useless as Hordak saw a steady stream of arrows rain down towards the rebels, forcing them back or else be injured, or even worse, killed.

Hordak looked up to see a black cloaked and hooded figure move with silent grace across the battlefield, firing with amazing speed, about 2 arrows every second. The archer's hands were a blur as they took a fresh arrow out of his heavy quiver, nocked the arrow to his bowstring, pulled back, and let fly, almost hitting a rebel unless they managed to duck away in time, and that was only possible because of the distance between the archer and them. Still, the archer's forward movement meant that they would be within deadly range soon.

Hordak had never seen such skill before, not even from the rebel Bow. As though in response to his thoughts, Bow stepped out, ostensibly in a challenge to the newcomer. He raised his own bow, loosing an arrow in the unknown archer's direction.

The Horde commander glimpsed the hint of a smile beneath the hood of the archer. The archer did not even halt his movement, and fired off an arrow in response. The jaws of all those watching dropped in amazement as the archer's arrow snapped across the tip of Bow's arrow, veering it away from the archer while continuing towards Bow, who stood in stunned disbelief.

The arrow stabbed into Bow's side, and the rebel gasped in pain. Suddenly, the morale of the rebels broke, and they started running away, some of them carrying their wounded leader into the forest, while Glimmer covered their retreat with a forcefield from the emboldened Horde warriors, advancing under Hordak and Tuwac's lead. The archer stood off to one side, his bow held at the ready, but he did not make any attempt to pursue either.

Tuwac was about to urge his men forward when the unknown archer spoke for the first time. "Does the Horde employ fools who charge into forests where another ambush could be waiting?" It was the strong and confident voice of a man.

"Tuwac, stop!" Hordak ordered. "The stranger is right."

"But sir! We have them on the run!"

The archer spoke again, "And who's to tell if they have backup in the forest ready to chew you to pieces?" He laughed derisively. "Go ahead then. Be my guest. Don't expect me to cover your ass though."

"Who are you?" Hordak asked, half certain of the answer already. "A sword for hire?"

The archer smiled grimly. "Indeed, my lord is brilliant." Hordak waved off the comment. He had enough of bootlickers. "Yes, I am a mercenary. I just arrived off a cargo ship, and I thought of earning some honest coin. So I asked around, and every answer I got was to sign on with the Horde. I was on my way to meet up with you personally when those rebels attacked. What better way to demonstrate my skill?" The archer drew back his hood, revealing the face of a surprisingly young man. His green eyes stood out below a head of brown hair, ever alert and watchful as they roved around every few seconds. "Those arrows I was using? Poison tipped. There'll be about ten less rebels to bother you from today on."

Hordak nodded. He had been a bit suspicious of the manner in which the archer had arrived, but that explanation had been good enough. He could well believe the poisoned arrows, as a look at the slightly oily surface of the an arrow nearby would suffice. But there was something about the man… Hordak deemed himself a good judge of character, and he knew the man was hiding something, perhaps a lot of things. But what? Could he trust the man for his plan?

He made a decision. "Very well. Welcome to the horde. Since our rank structure is pretty, uh… saturated right now, you'll have to be satisfied with a Trooper's rank and pay."

The man spat. "Bullshit. I am an experienced vet of many battles and wars. At the very least, I'm worth the rank of a Force Captain."

Hordak shook his head, "I'm sorry, but we have no vacancies. You'll just have to make do."

The man suddenly smiled slightly, and Hordak shivered. It was the smile of a predator. He said, "How about this? Let me create a vacancy, right here, right now."

Hordak frowned. "But there are no… ahhhh…" Understanding dawned on him. He looked at Tuwac, who was staring at them dumbly. "Go ahead then." _This should be interesting._

The man half smiled. "Thank you. I promise you won't be disappointed." He walked up to Tuwac, who still didn't understand what was happening until the archer drew a sword from under his cloak.

"What the hell…" Tuwac drew his own sword.

"Simple, Force Captain," the archer waved his sword in front of him in intricate patterns. "I need your rank, and your command. So you can either walk away from the Horde now, or you can just die. Your choice, my friend."

_Walk away, Tuwac, _Hordak observed the man's movements, trying to discern his skill. _This is no ordinary mercenary._

"No way. I will kill you right now!" Tuwac roared as he brought his sword up and around to his right in a lope that would slice the archer into half. "Die!"

Except the archer had easily slid to the left, and then forward with blinding speed, his sword held parallel to the ground as he moved off, the blade cutting Tuwac across his belly from his middle to his side. Then the man stood straight up again, and slid his sword back into its scabbard under his cloak, but not before a flick of his wrist cleared the blood from the smooth blade.

Tuwac collapsed onto the ground, his sword clattering uselessly beside him, dead before even landing a single blow. Blood pooled below his rapidly cooling corpse.

Hordak nodded appreciatively. It was too bad he didn't have many subordinates truly skilled in the arts of war. From what he had seen, this problem was about to be solved.

"Yaaahhh!" The sudden sound made Hordak look up in surprise to see one of Tuwac's subordinates, a Force Lieutenant, along with his Force Sergeant, driving a transport truck down the road for a distance before spinning around to face the archer.

"Lord Hordak, since you allowed this mercenary to create vacancies, how about we create one for ourselves as well!" The Lieutenant shouted.

The archer looked to Hordak in query, and Hordak shrugged in response. "If you can kill this man, I shall promote you!" Hordak shouted. _I'd like to see how he'll deal with this._

"Good! Now die, stranger!" The vehicle charged forward, accelerating and forming a dust cloud behind it in just a few seconds. Hordak estimated about 8 seconds before the vehicle would hit the man, and as fast as the archer was, he did not believe he was fast enough to evade an incoming vehicle.

The man did not seem unduly worried though. He drew his bow again, and Hordak watched with interest as to what he would do. The moments seemed to stretch out as the man drew back an arrow, paused for just a split second, and fired it at the vehicle.

Hordak shook his head as the arrow slammed into the thick mindscreen of the transport, right in front of the sergeant, who was in the driver's seat. The windscreen was tough enough to withstand even laser bolts. The arrow had managed to penetrate only part of the way through.

"Hahahaha! Idiot! Your arrow tricks won't avail you against this!" The Force Lieutenant was laughing, but Hordak saw the man still standing calmly in the middle of the road.

The archer drew out another arrow from his almost empty quiver, his movements slow and deliberate. He held it up to the bowstring, and drew the arrow back, holding his position for a whole second. Hordak looked in growing panic at the vehicle, which seemed about to smash into the archer.

Then the arrow finally streaked from his bow.

Straight into the end of the previous arrow.

Pushing the already embedded arrow forward past the windshield.

Forward into the forehead of the sergeant.

For the second time that day, the jaws of the Horde observers dropped in sheer disbelief as the out-of-control vehicle veered off from its course, missing the archer by mere inches. For his part, the archer did not move at all when the vehicle brushed past him, as though he had already known where it would go.

_By the Ancients_, Hordak rarely swore, but this was an exception. _This is impossible!_ The breeze of the vehicle's passing movement caused the man's cloak to billow for a moment, and in that instant Hordak saw a whole deadly array of knives and daggers on the man's belt.

The man walked over slowly to the vehicle, which had overturned on its side. The Force Lieutenant climbed up and out of a door, holding up a pistol, swaying slight on his feet. He staggered up on the vehicle, and was about to shoot when the archer calmly fired off another arrow, this time punching into the Lieutenant's hand and making him drop the pistol.

The Lieutenant yelled in pain and anger, and jumped from the vehicle for the man with a dagger in his good hand. As his dagger swung down, his arm was caught by the archer, who had moved forward. The archer used both his arms to add momentum to the Horde officer's flight, ending in a bone jarring slam on the ground.

The archer did not stop there. He immediately bent the arm he was holding with was probably a breaking move, and Hordak winced as he heard a loud crack. The Force Lieutenant screamed in agony, spittle flying from his mouth. The archer let go of his broken arm, and stood over the beaten Horde officer.

"You are pathetic." The victorious man said. "And you call yourself a warrior?" He turned to the ashen faced Horde troopers standing around Hordak. "Let me teach you what being a warrior means." He placed the heel of a boot on the lieutenant's neck, and started to press down into his throat, forcing out a gurgle from the stricken man..

"A warrior is one trained in the art of killing" The lieutenant's eyes were pleading now, his unbroken arm grasping in vain at the archer's boot in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his neck.

The archer did not stop, and pressed down even harder. "A warrior is one who kills his enemies without regrets." The lieutenant was clearly suffocating now, his body twitching and squirming on the floor in its death throes.

"A warrior is one who leaves broken enemies in his wake because he knows the dead can never harm him." A final downward press of the boot squeezed out a convulsion, all that remained of the lieutenant's life. The archer looked up at the Horde warriors, as though in challenge, and Hordak could swear they were all ready to run away from this monster. Hell, even _he _felt more than a bit afraid. He doubted he could defeat the archer if it came to a fight. _Perhaps, just perhaps, this archer might be the overseers' match? _A plan came to Hordak's scheming mind.

"Excellent," Hordak said, "I don't think anybody will be bothering you for quite a while. By the way, what do you call yourself?" _Names, signifying nothing. I bet he'll give me a false name._

The man paused for a moment, before answering, "I am Charlatan."

_Bingo. Definitely a false name. Clever old me. _Hordak would have felt better if he didn't feel half-scared that his plan might just result in his death.

Bow yelped in irritation as Madame Razz wrapped a bandage over his arrow wound. It had gone cleanly through his body without hitting any organs, and the wizened guardian of the Whispering Woods had assured him that there would be no permanent effects from the wound, and that he would be ready for action within a week. Bow did not know if he was supposed to be glad that Bhaal had been true to his word to inflict the minimum amount of hurt on him and those 'chosen' to be targets, or jealous of the other man's preternatural ability in archery.

"Are you all right?" Glimmer's worried face peeked through the entrance of the medical tent.

"I'm fine." Bow grinned. "The plan worked."

"Yeah," Glimmer nodded as she entered the tent. "I only hope Bhaal can rescue She Ra and the others."

Bow thought back to Bhaal's quiet confidence. "I think he can. If anyone can do it, Bhaal can."

Glimmer smiled, "So you're no longer jealous that he's better than you at shooting?"

Bow scowled. "How did you know?"

"We've been together for so long. I wouldn't be much of a leader if I didn't know how my friends feel, would I?"

Bow laughed in reply. "Well then, mind reader, tell me what I'm thinking of now?"

"Oh, how about some dinner?"

"A girl after my own heart indeed." Bow smiled broadly as he walked out of the tent. "Come on. Thanks Madame Razz!" He said to the old witch.

Madame Razz, who had kept quiet throughout the exchange, only beamed as she said quietly. "Love is in the air." She shook her head, and chuckled as she prepared to tend to other members of the Rebellion. But she worried nevertheless, for those still in the clutches of the Horde. _Mister Bhaal, we are depending on you._


	3. Infiltrator

_Thus the highest form of generalship is to balk the enemy's plans; the next best is to prevent the junction of the enemy's forces; the next in order is to attack the enemy's army in the field; and the worst policy of all is to besiege walled cities._

-_The Art of War_, Sun-Tzu

_Information is ammunition._

-_Popular saying_, SLDF

Deep within the Horde's Fortress in the Fright Zone, far beneath the bustling armouries and training chambers where dozens of horde troopers, both living and mechanical lived and worked, just above the hot layer of mantle that surrounds the planet's core, there existed a special prison, meant to hold several very special people.

One was a woman, who possessed a beautiful fan of feathers with eyes that could peer past almost anything. She was locked within a black obsidian cell, prepared with special spells that prevented her from seeing anything. Even her eyes were sealed with a tape that blocked her sight. Her arms were secured by heavy chains that only slacked four times a day under heavy guard to allow her to relieve herself and for food.

Another was held in a murky tank of water, poisoned with special psychotropic drugs that sapped the mermaid's ability to think and induced fear and helplessness in the captive victim. The water was recycled constantly, removing any waste material that would accumulate in the water. Food was simply crumbs of bread scattered into the water, forcing the maiden to scavenge them. She looked emancipated from months of malnutrition.

There were a few others, from a woman with the ability to control spinning threads to a winged angel to a talking pegacorn. All tortured regularly, all weak from their prolonged ordeal. But the centrepiece of the prison was the female warrior held down by massive chains in the middle of the entire complex.

Her muscular body glistened with sweat and dirt, and her beauty was plain even in the dark, hot dungeon. A ray was aimed at her once powerful body, draining her precious magical energy even as she writhed in her chains, her blond tresses splaying around her, futilely seeking escape from her imprisonment. Her struggles had been far more vigorous in the beginning, but months of incarceration have sapped both her courage and hope. She was clad in the rags of her former fighting dress, the once pure white cloth having turned grimy and dirty with accumulated dirt and dried blood.

She-ra was almost broken. Even with her powers sustaining her in the absence of food and water, they were being drained, and soon they would be gone, leaving her completely at the mercies of her captors.

"Give up, girl, you cannot understand the sheer power of the Dark." The figure in front of her hissed, taunting her by holding up the Sword of Protection. "The power of Greyskull is but a mere candle beside ours. We have the power to destroy star systems, to ravage entire galaxies. You have no chance, no hope. Surrender, and accept our domination."

The Princess of Power lifted her head tiredly, and shook it slowly, "No. Never. I will never submit to evil." She shuddered as another pulse of her energy was drawn out. "Do your worse, villain!" The warrior woman declared bravely. She was beyond hope, but even then, she would never surrender.

"Then your torture will continue." The figure said matter-of-factly. There was no malice in its voice, just a slight tinge of inhuman anticipation. It brought up a gruesome three fingered hand, which seemed like an insect limb, covered in chitin and hair. In the hand was a black stunstick. He pressed one end of the stick against She-ra's smooth, firm stomach, and activated the device.

Her screams of sheer agony echoed throughout the prison.

Hordak raised his head, and shuddered. He could almost hear She-ra as she struggled with her torture at the hands of the overseers. He did not know why, but he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach whenever she underwent another one of those 'sessions'. It was an inexplicable feeling that he just could not understand. She was his enemy, his most hated enemy of all. He was not supposed to feel sorry for his enemies, any of them. Well, except for one particular enemy.

He was in his office, working at balancing the planetary budget and trying to decide just how much surplus he was going to send to Horde Prime as tribute for the year and how much he was going to hold back for Etheria's own development. As a mainly agricultural world, Etheria did not have much to offer except food, some fossil fuel deposits, and some minerals, all of which would be processed before exporting off-world.

Sometimes, Hordak wondered out loud just why the Horde needed to invade Etheria in the first place. The only resource of note was the massive reserves of magical energy locked within the planet itself, but that energy could hardly be tapped by conventional means.

He sometimes wished he had never come to Etheria, or even Eternia at all. All the two worlds had done was offer him defeat after defeat, loss after loss. And a certain blond haired infant he had raised to adulthood, only for her to backstab and betray him, the man who had brought her up and trained her, for her true heritage as a Princess of Eternia, a loss more painful than any other.

Hordak hated himself for loving Adora.

He shuffled through the folders on his computer, looking for a particular file. It was a recording from many years ago. He found the file, and debated within himself for a moment before clicking on the button that would play the recording.

His screen flashed with images of him and a blond girl of about seven years old, playing through a field as they threw a bright coloured disc at each other. Hordak sat back and watched, losing himself in happier times, times when Adora was still his daughter. He did not allow himself to dwell on the fact she had probably been killed when the Rebellion had been crushed at the fall of the Kingdom of Brightmoon. Not even her body had been found, despite his best efforts.

He did not notice the tears streaking down one side of his pale, hard face.

"Who are you?" The huge furry creature challenged Michael Sandoval at the entrance to the officer mess. The ranger took one look at the beast's huge arms and the insignia of a Force Captain on its harness, replied, "Charlatan. Mercenary. Hordak just hired me. We're the same rank. Now get out of my way."

He shoved past the other officer without waiting for his response. He also ignored the silent urging from Bhaal to kill. _Weakling, you can destroy him with a twitch of your blade. Kill him, kill them all._

The faux mercenary suppressed the urge to sigh. _I thought your bloodlust was slated by that action when I got hired by Hordak?_

_It's only 3 people! _Bhaal wailed. _Come on, we can do better! I know you want to kill more of these fools…_

_Not yet_, Michael answered. _Not until we've found the leaders of the Rebellion and a way to get them out._

_Pah! Forget about finding more information! Just kill everybody in this complex and be done with it!_

Michael resisted the urge to yell back, which would only end up in another shouting debate and a headache. _What if there are more powerful foes present? The overseers, I suspect, are horoi, and a few of them can certainly overwhelm us. No, we do this one my way._

_Excuses, excuses. Why don't you… Wow, leave that pretty one alive for last, will you?_

Mike blinked out of his internal conversation in time to notice a tall brunette with flashing green eyes staring at him. She had high cheekbones set in a beautiful face, and her limbs were sleek with power and grace. She wore a red costume, and he could see that she also wore the insignia of a Force Captain.

"Now what do we have here?" She snarled at him, and Michael flinched away from her. Her voice was thin and sharp, and it cut into his ears. She sounded very much like a cat.

Michael braced himself, and gave the same answer as he did before, "Charlatan. Mercenary. Hordak just hired me."

"Just wearing the rank insignia doesn't mean squat." A man with a mechanical eye patch muttered. "We Force Captains are the best of the Horde, and I don't think you're it."

Mike nodded as though in agreement, before sliding forward so quickly that all the others saw were a blur. Then the man who had spoken was pressed up against a wall, with Mike's knife at his throat.

"If I'm shit, then I guess you're lower than shit." Mike smiled, ignoring Bhaal's mental urgings to plunge the knife into the man's throat.

"Enough!" The brunette roared. "We're not here to fight amongst ourselves. Charlatan, isn't it? Let Scurvy down."

Mike released his hold on the man, and stepped back to see a whole array of beings gathered around the mess table. Scurvy stumbled upon his release, but quickly made his way to the table. Mike noted with satisfaction that Scurvy sat furthest away from him.

The brunette started to introduce the Force Captains present, "I'm Catra. This big lug over here is Grizzlor," the furry beast nodded to Mike. Then there were another two women besides Catra, Entrapta and Scorpia. And there was the robot Modulok, the lizard Tung Lashor, and the energy drainer Leech. One was missing, the energy attacker Mantenna. All the Force Captains deferred to Catra.

Although they were all of the same rank, Mike could see why Catra was first amongst equals. She had a confident and dominating manner that enabled her to assume leadership of this motley bunch.

If they weren't the enemy, Mike thought he could be friends with them pretty easily. As it was, he could only tell himself to make their deaths swift and painless. If it came to that. Maybe he could make them change sides…

"So, tell us about yourself, Charlatan." Catra challenged him, her green eyes glittering in the light of the mess hall.

Mike leapt onto a nearby table, and bowed theatrically. "I am Charlatan, mercenary and scum of the earth. I am an archer," he drew his bow and an arrow from his back, and fired off the arrow into an apple placed on the table before any one of them could blink, "and a soldier of ill repute." Then his voice became grim and low, "I have never lost a fight, and I don't intend to start now." The gathered officers clapped at his impromptu speech.

Then Mike leapt down from the table he had used as his stage, and picked up his arrow with the apple stuck on the business end. He removed the apple from the arrow and took a bite of the succulent fruit. "Now, how about dinner?" His tone was in complete contrast to the serious tone he had used.

Catra laughed, "Come on, let's eat!"

Catra stole another look at Charlatan. He was extremely good looking, green eyes below a head of brown hair, and a face that took away her breath whenever he smiled genuinely, which she had seen only once so far throughout the entire night. Most times, his smile was strained, as though there was something he knew which wouldn't allow him to open up. And his soulful eyes, when they had once looked at each other during the introduction, indicated that there was far more to him than just a simple mercenary skilled in archery.

She had only ever had a crush once, and that was on Sea Hawk. But Sea Hawk had fallen for She-ra and Adora. Catra couldn't stand being in 3rd place, and the fact that they were on opposite sides meant that she had no chance at all of wining his affections. Sea Hawk, she mused sadly, had been killed by one of the overseers when they had captured She-ra. It was a score that she would settle with them in the future.

But now, here was this new Force Captain, handsome, apparently unattached, and best of all, on the side of the Horde. Catra licked her lips of the sweet mead that was served to wash down their meal. _I will make you mine, Charlatan._

Mike found himself waking up early the next morning, and running through his tasks for the day as he checked his computer for details while downing a cold breakfast of bread and ham.

Hordak had designated him as the Horde's training instructor, as well as command of a company of Horde troopers. He had a packed schedule ahead of him. It seemed like Hordak wanted to get full value for his money.

Sandoval found himself at a dilemma. On one hand, these were the enemy. Training them would only make them better killers, terrorising the people of Etheria. On the other hand, if he slacked off on their training, or purposely taught them the stuff which got soldiers killed, he couldn't do that on his conscience either.

And the constant blaring from Bhaal didn't help him think either. It was always kill this, kill that, kill everybody.

An unbidden image of his old instructor Milan came to his mind, lecturing on leadership and combat._ Push your troops hard, push them well. Power is nothing without control. But power and control are nothing without purpose. Being a leader, being a commander of men, is more than just skill and strength. Purpose is everything._

And there Mike had his answer. He would train the Horde troops to the utmost of his ability, to forge the core of a wholly professional army more loyal to Etheria than to Hordak. He would dilute their purpose, and sow the seeds of doubt. In time, the seeds would bear fruit. And the Rebellion would find themselves with a ready made army once their leaders have been rescued. Deprived of a large proportion of his army, Hordak would have no choice but to abandon Etheria, or else be bludgeoned into defeat.

Michael grinned as he stepped out of the room. Things were looking up.

"Why do men fight?" Mike stood on a podium, addressing the gathered NCOs. He had learnt long ago that sergeants ran any fighting force, and the Horde was comfortingly no different. He pointed to one burly black sergeant. "You, answer me. Why do you fight?"

"Sir? I fight for money. The Horde pays well."

Mike pounced. "So if somebody else pays better coin, you would fight for him?"

"Aye, sir. I would. But there is none who pay better. And there never will be. Sir."

Mike smiled tightly. "Never say never. So now tell me, Sergeant," Mike took in the man's name patch, "Bielick. What do you need coin for?"

Bielick sighed, "I got my ma and pa on a wrecked farm. They need the money to repair the farm, and I got no other option. So I signed up with the Horde."

"Why was the farm wrecked?"

Bielick did not answer immediately, but his stricken look and the sympathizing glances thrown his way by the other NCOs told Mike enough. Inwardly, he smiled. The Horde had been responsible for a great deal of destruction when they had first came to Etheria, and the damage was still going on, as Horde commanders would raze villages to the ground whenever there was the slightest resistance, and he was going to draw attention to it. Men don't become NCOs by just bootlicking. They had to have some real talent and brains to maintain their authority. On the other hand, the officer corps was firmly maintained through loyalty checks, and he didn't think he could affect that part much.

Sandoval raised his voice, drawing the attention of his audience back to him, "Given a choice, would you have led the life of a soldier?"

Bielick stammered for a few moments before Mike spat, "Answer me."

"No."

"I thought so," Mike, in the same blinding motion he had used the night before, shot an arrow into Bielick's leg, the arrow punching through the thigh and even shattering the bone completely with the force of his deadly shot. Bielick screamed as he fell to the floor, clutching his leg. If he had so wanted, Mike could have blown Bielick's entire leg apart with a spell cast on the arrow, but that was one trick of many he was going to hold back.

"Wrong answer." Mike replied calmly. "You are Horde, and everything you have, everything you are, belongs to the Horde. You are nothing more than a slave to the Horde. Your needs are subservient to that of the Horde. Medic!" A soldier ran in with a first aid kit, while the other NCOs stood silently in shock.

Mike grinned as he saw the first glimmers of both hatred and understanding of what the Horde had done to them appear in the eyes of the soldiers. His questions were meant to lead them down a particular conclusion, and they were going to go down that road, all the way down, to betrayal and salvation.

_You are all slaves, and would you like to continue living as such? You aren't defenceless villagers now, you've the guns and the training. So, ever thought of the alternative?_ Mike recalled some of his former psyops training, and this time was as good as any to put that to good use. He would have to show them that any hopes of their gaining power in the Horde was just an illusion, but that'll be a later lesson.

He jumped off the podium, just as Bielick was lifted away on a stretcher, "Lecture for today has ended. We'll be going to a ten mile run, all of us. Get your men ready in three minutes."

"Yes, sir!" They scrambled to carry out his orders. Mike noted that several of them were pissed at him, their body language towards him clearly hostile. _Excellent_, he thought.

"So, what's this again?" Mike stared at the strange contraption Modulok had gathered the ranking Horde captains for inspection.

"Oh, just the latest of my inventions which would bring further glory to the horde!" Modulok exclaimed, totally ignoring the fact that several of his peers were already inching away from his machine, getting ready to lower themselves to the ground when the inevitable happens.

Modulok's machines were not known for being safe. At least, that was what Mike had heard from the other officers.

His newest work was a tracked automated tank, with a laser cannon mounted on a swivel turret. It looked much like any other piece of military equipment, but Mike noticed that there was no place for a driver or a gunner. Which also meant that the entire assemble was actually rather compact, the size of a small cart.

"Behold! The Mark Six Autotank!" Modulok declared. "Capable of traversing all kinds of terrain, and armed with a rapid fire laser cannon, it will send those cowardly rebels running in seconds!"

As Modulok continued to expound on the merits of the tank, Mike sidled over to Catra, and asked _sotto voce_, "Mark Six? What happened to the previous five models?"

"They blew up once they were activated." Catra deadpanned. "Most of us expect the same this time round."

"Ahhhh."

"All right!" Modulok was about to finish his speech, "I have set up a few targets here for the tank to shoot at," he gestured at several dummies in the distance, which looked like ordinary civilians, "in order to test its image recognition abilities. Now I'll just press this button, and we'll start the test."

Almost before Modulok's finger had depressed the button fully, Mike's sixth sense was already screaming at him to _move._

The tank came to life, instead of blowing up as before, and the turret started swivelling to seek out targets. The Horde officers were all standing around, surprised that it did not blow up. Then the turret seemingly stopped moving, and its business end was pointed at Catra.

"MOVE IT!" Mike yelled as he tackled Catra just as the cannon fired. They tumbled painfully to the ground, while the turret turned around to start blasting haphazardly at anybody and everybody in the vicinity. The Horde officers were running desperately for what little cover was available, while Modulok was already cowering behind a low wall.

The turret continued shooting away.

Catra, her reflexes honed by experience and training, managed to soften her fall. She flipped to her feet quickly, and managed to dodge a series of shots sent her way. She saw that Charlatan had also managed to regain his feet, and he had stayed right behind her as they dashed behind a parked vehicle.

"Bloody hell!" Charlatan gritted out, and Catra was shocked to see blood flowing copiously down his right shoulder. He leaned back heavily against the jeep, his teeth bared against the pain as he tried to staunch the blood flow with his other hand.

_He took the shot for me, Catra realised. _Nobody in the Horde, has ever done that for me. Ever.__

Her body trembled at the thought. It brought to her unfamiliar sensations. Ones that felt strange, but which felt so right to her. She had been lonely for years within the Horde, a product of a genetic experiment regarded as a failure by Hordak. Within the Horde, there had been little room for love, only hate and unchecked ambition. She had immersed herself within the larger Horde identity, trying to find some modicum of acceptance, but in the end having only fear and grudging respect.

"Help me stop the bleeding!" Charlatan shouted at her, and Catra shook herself out of her malaise, then tore off a piece of clothing off his uniform to serve as a makeshift bandage. They wound it tightly around the gaping wound. A more intensive examination would have to wait. Charlatan nodded gratefully to her as they took the chance to assess the situation.

The tank's laser cannon was now silent, but it was still operative, and had stopped firing only because there were no targets around. They could hear the soft whirring of its treads and the mechanical whine of the turret's servos as it prowled the area.

"HEY!" Charlatan suddenly shouted out loud. "Modulok! You there?"

"Yeah? Why?" Catra was disgusted at the robot's tremulous tone. She swore to herself never to trust Modulok or his inventions again. They were often more trouble than they were worth.

"Is there a remote for shutdown for the tank?" Charlatan asked.

"If there was, don't you think I would have gotten it by now?" Modulok shouted back. "There are two ways out! We blow it up, which is impossible right now! Or we hit the off button. It's the same button I pressed to start it!"

"Fuck!" Charlatan cursed. He closed his eyes.

"Are you all right?" Catra asked concernedly.

He opened his eyes again, and stared at her, "Lady, I just got shot up, I can't use my bow, and we're stuck here until somebody figures out a way to blow that thing. How do you think I'm feeling right now?"

"I'm sorry," said Catra. She had very rarely apologised to anybody, even Hordak.

Charlatan sighed. "Sorry, I should not have taken it out on you. Nobody expected this."

Catra disagreed, "No, as the ranking officer I should have taken the safety aspects into consideration. We've been far too cavalier in our R&D. It's a miracle we haven't killed ourselves."

"I'm glad you know that now."

Then she saw him staring at her intently. Catra blushed, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Charlatan blinked. "No, no! Behind you!"

Catra turned to see a fairly polished piece of steel breastplate lying on the ground. In its reflection they could see Modulok's tank.

"I have an idea. Help me get my bow and quiver out." Charlatan groaned as he leaned forward to lie down on the ground, while Catra took his bow and quiver off his back.

Catra was horrified, "You can't be thinking of going up against that beast, even if you're not injured!"

He looked at her in surprise, and replied, "Thank you for your concern, but I have no intention of throwing away my life." He smiled grimly, "Watch, and learn."

"The tank's laser cannon is a line of sight weapon. It can only shoot straight. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad." He explained as he laid on the ground, both feet clutching the bow's centre, which would normally be held in one hand. His left arm had an arrow out and lying on the taut bow string. "The arrow, on the other hand, can move in a curve, a trajectory over barriers. Archery isn't just about hitting a far away target the size of a dot. It's about understanding the possible curves and paths the arrow can take."

Charlatan drew the bow, using his legs in lieu of his left arm, and his left arm instead of his right arm. He took a look at the breastplate, and let fly with the shot. Then Catra and Charlatan both stared at the improvised mirror.

The arrow hit the ground about a meter away from the tank. Catra raised an eyebrow. This was the first time she had heard of people shooting without using both hands.

Charlatan tried again, and this time his arrow landed on the turret. However, the arrow had no real power behind it, and did not even scratch the turret's armour before it fell to the ground, bent and broken.

"Wasn't aiming for that anyway," Charlatan murmured.

"You're aiming for the button." Catra stated. "It's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible. It just takes a little longer." He assured her, and his confidence was infectious.

"Well, I hope your arrow supply lasts."

It took five more arrows for him to narrow on the button, which was not helped at all by the tank's movement, and Catra began to worry when the tank started in their direction. By all accounts, what Charlatan was doing was truly impossible. Trying to hit a moving target the size of a berry on a curved trajectory while using an imperfect mirror to sight onto his target.

Catra had began praying hard by the time the tank was only 10 meters away, while Charlatan still seemed as calm as a rock. Then just as it was about to come upon them, Charlatan launched an arrow which went almost straight up into the sky before coming down. Right on top of the stop button. The tank lurched to a halt. Charlatan laid back on the ground, letting his exhaustion and pain show only after his task was done.

The easing of battle tension was almost palpable to the relived Horde. And before Catra knew it, she was hugging Charlatan fiercely.

Mike enjoyed being hugged by a pretty woman as much as the next guy, but he knew he couldn't get too close. Not to Catra, not to anyone. After a while, he had pushed her away, while the others had quickly called for medical aid for those hit by the tank. He had spent several hours getting patched up. His wound had needed stitches, and Mike tried not to wince at the memory of the doctors working on him without using anaesthesia.

Modulok had been thrown into the dungeon, and would stay there for a few days to figure out and reflect on his mistakes so that he wouldn't repeat them again.

Meanwhile, Mike had been hailed as a hero during dinner that night, and even Hordak himself had managed to come down and offer his praise and thanks. The potential loss of so many key officers and personnel would have set back the Horde's efforts greatly.

Mike refused to dwell on the irony of his helping the Horde when he could have just stood aside and allowed the automated tank to slaughter them. Even now, Bhaal was ranting long and loud in his mind over the lost opportunity, bringing on a headache that Mike really did not need at this time.

He was more worried by the fact that he had not even caught a glimpse of the overseers. Outside of the overseers, he had learnt, only Hordak had access to the dungeon holding the rebels. If he needed to get She-ra, whoever she was, and the rest of the Rebellion's leaders out, he'd have to either convince Hordak or the overseers to give him access.

And right now, Hordak was his best option. Mike had his own suspicions as to who the overseers are, and he knew there would be no compromise with them, only deadly conflict. On Hordak, Mike could not be sure, but he suspected that Hordak had his own agenda, and that he was to be part of it. One thing that was already clear to Mike was that for all his bluster, Hordak was pretty much a softie at heart. Modulok was the best example. Most other rulers would have just destroyed him as an object lesson. Hordak only threw him into the dungeon.

He laid on his bed for a long time that night, thinking up plans with the crazed voice of Bhaal in his head and discarding them just as quickly. Time, he suspected, was running short. He would have to act, and soon.

Hordak laid his hand on the genetic identification pad next to the small door that would lead to the dungeon holding the rebels.

"Pass phrase." A cold emotionless computerised voice asked.

"Glory and strength to the Horde." Hordak rasped.

"Access granted."

The small door slid open, and Hordak walked through. He was greeted by a cloaked figure. The cloak hid the overseer's body, but Hordak knew that beneath the cloak was the stuff of nightmares.

"Welcome, Hordak," said Xenostog smugly, "I'm glad you could come down today. We think we have some very interesting findings about the Etheria's champion that might interest you."

"I'm sure." Hordak ground out. The condescending attitude of the overseers was what he hated most about them. And the fact that any one of them was so much more powerful than he was.

They swapped small talk as they proceeded to She-ra's cell, with Xenostag dominating the conversation. Hordak tried to ignore the pained cries emanating from the other cells. No, it would not do to show weakness in front of the overseers.

They entered the cell holding the Princess of Power, and Hordak was shocked by the sheer devastation visited on the once mighty champion who had foiled him time and again. He should be gloating, but he felt only sadness. There were three other overseers, all of them radiating power and sheer evil as they observed She-Ra.

She-ra was bleeding all over, her power dwindled to the point that she could be injured like an other ordinary mortal. She hung limply in her chains, unconscious from her torture. Bruises covered her once beautiful face, but more than that, her glamour, the spell hiding her true identity, had been torn away.

_No, this cannot be! Hordak tried to conceal his horror when he recognised Adora, his adopted daughter Adora. He tried not to think of the times when Adora had returned from some gruelling training mission, looking almost like this. He yearned to comfort her, ease her pain, like he had always done before. But he couldn't. Not now._

This explained everything. Why Adora had defected. Why She-ra had seemed to know so much about the Horde and their tactics. Why she had saved him time and again. Because in a way, she still regarded him as her father. Hordak felt torn by the maelstrom inside him as he struggled with himself not to shoot at the overseers and get Adora out of this evil place.

"Yes, this is Force Captain Adora," Xenostag confirmed. "Rather interesting, wouldn't you say? That one of your handpicked officers would turn out to be such a traitor?"

"I did not know." The implications were there, and Hordak tried to hide his fear. Yes indeed, he did not know. But a small part of him wondered if he had always known, or why hadn't he realised that She-ra and Adora were one and the same, especially after she had saved him so many times, despite the fact that they were enemies?

Hordak wanted to get out of this dismal place. He needed to think. He went through the rest of the short session trying to keep a tight leash on his body language, while hoping for the overseers to finish their briefing as soon as possible.

Then it all fell apart, when She-ra woke up. She stared listlessly at Hordak.

"Help me. Please." Her voice was so weak, so full of despair.

Hordak remained impassive, knowing that the overseers were watching him, but deep inside, he had already made his decision. _I will help you, my child. Hang in there. No matter what, I will get you out._

And he knew the best candidate for the task. _Charlatan._

"He has a plan." Xenostag said, after Hordak had left.

"Let him try. What can he do, against us?" Big, immense Gardo sneered. "By the Dark, he could get his whole gang of goons down, and we'll still crush them."

"Do not be too sure," replied cold, analytical Urytar, "I sense a presence in the vicinity. It is powerful. And more than that, it is careful. It might even be strong enough to challenge us."

"Above all, we must not forget our objective," their leader Gnagg reminded them, "To claim the secrets of Greyskull and unleash its power to open a gateway for our forces into this area of space!"


End file.
